Granddad’s Depression Sheep
My father told me many times a sad story of Granddad Bowles trying to get out of the sheep business. Recently Cousin Les Bowles of Marble Falls, told the same story and it became a very funny story. Cousin Les is a good storyteller and the reason is that one of his friends in the fertilizer business for many years was Jerry Clower of Yazoo, MS. Jerry used his storytelling ability to sell chemical fertilizer and became a nationally known storyteller that sold millions of comedy albums. Les continued to sell fertilizer, but while working with Jerry, he learned to turn a tale of woe into a humorous story.
During the Depression, Granddad had many sheep and with no market for several years they multiplied. Hearing there were buyers in Fort Worth, he decided to herd them into Austin, the nearest railhead 30 miles south. Leonard East had a wagon yard on East Second, not far from the Congress Avenue bridge. It would take several days to get to Austin, starting down Bee Creek Road, then Bee Caves Road. It had to be a sight all those wooly critters crossing the bridge. Once at the rail yard in Austin, they were loaded and shipped to the Union Stockyard in Fort Worth.
Granddad received a bill for freight and no check. He received a letter that said, “I am sorry to inform you that the sale of your sheep did not cover the freight charges, this invoice is for the difference that you owe.” Granddad wrote back that he didn’t have any money to pay the bill, but he had found some more sheep that he would be glad to trade for what was owed. He got a prompt reply from the railroad agent that said “Let’s just call it even.”
Les made a lighthearted story out of Depression Era hard times. That is what storytelling is all about. Thanks Cousin for sharing the story.
Obsolescent Necessities
The first book in the Westward Sagas was named Spring House because most of the important scenes in the story took place in a spring house.
My grandparents, whom I discussed in my last post, also had a spring house. It was no longer in use, but I remember exactly how the native rock structure looked. I thought it was pretty cool, and it was. Cool spring water came out of a natural flowing spring running inside the structure by way of troughs that allowed the spring water to slowly trickle down the man-made trace into a pool of water twelve to eighteen inches deep. My parents told me how Grandmother would place the crocks of butter, milk, and eggs in the circulating water to keep them cool.
Granddad eventually bought an ice box, which eliminated running to the spring house on the creek for a glass of milk. The ice box worked pretty well when the local ice man came by twice a week during summer months to replenish the quickly melting ice. The residents along the Pedernales River called on their congressman and neighbor Lyndon Johnson to get electricity to the area like the folks in the city had. His support for the Rural Electrification Project earned him a lifetime of praise and support for his efforts.
It was an exciting day when Granddad switched that light switch on for the first time. An electric refrigerator soon replaced the ice box, no-longer-needed kerosene lamps were stored in the ice box, and the spring house became just a cool place to be after a hard day of work or a place for the grandchildren to play. The word spring house and ice box would become obsolete.
Look for words next week that have been recycled to mean something other than their original intent. You might be surprised.
Generation Gap
This Christmas I hosted the family at Goat Creek—the first time in years that I didn’t load the dogs up in the RV for a trip. My thirteen-year-old grandson, Nicholas, taught me about Facebook. He says it’s a neat way to meet girls. A glimpse at his Facebook page confirms that.
When I asked him a question, Nick looked at me like, “You don’t know that?” He did a great job of teaching me, much better than some of the online courses that I have taken on this new phenomenon known as social networking.
Cousin Les Bowles told a story about our Grandfather John Bowles that relates to my indoctrination to the PC and the many applications for its use. Granddad was born in 1874; he purchased a horseless carriage at about the same age that I was introduced to computers.
Around 1929, my Uncles Lester and Elmer took my grandparents to Austin, Texas to pick up the new conveyance. The salesmen put Granddad in the driver’s seat, without the engine running, in order to explain the gears, clutch, brake, spark, and gas levers of the Model T Ford. The salesman gave the Tin Lizzy a crank. It started; Granddad let out the clutch and drove off toward the Bowles Ranch on the Pedernales River. The boys caught up before they reached Williamson Creek at Oakhill. Everything went well down the bumpy gravel road, with dust billowing up and Grandma hanging on to the bonnet she always wore to protect her fair Scots-Irish complexion.
Granddad turned quickly down Cox Crossing Road, the only crossing on the Pedernales at the time. Fortunately the ranch gate was open, and he whizzed right in. Grandma looked like she was about to jump out of the open touring car. As they neared the rock house, he circled a stand of large native oak trees. Thinking their father was showing off his new vehicle for them, my father and Uncle Leroy came out to watch.
Granddad headed straight towards a thicket of brush, pulling back on the steering wheel and hollering, “Whoa, damnit! Whoa, damnit!”
He stopped in the middle of the thicket. Grandma jumped over the door on one side as Granddad did on the other. He headed to the house with her in close pursuit, swatting at him with her bonnet and giving him a good tongue lashing all the way.
Seems he didn’t remember the instructions on how to stop this new-fangled contraption. Granddad never drove the Model T again. He depended on his sons to drive him everywhere he went until his death in 1952 at the age of 79.
Having traveled at least once by horse or buggy to Indian Territory and back to Texas, Granddad understood the concept of making a horse or a team of horses stop. This new horseless carriage was as strange to him as the PC was to my generation when the Internet opened up 17 years ago.
I hope that my grandchildren and all young people will understand why some of the ever-changing computer applications are a challenge for the previous generations to grasp. In time, you will be tested on some futuristic technology as every generation before us has been.
The World’s Greatest Cowboy’s Greatest Feat
Last time, I introduced you to Jim Shoulders, the world’s best cowboy. As promised, here’s the story of my encounter with him at the Fairmont Hotel in Dallas. As I was unloading my materials for the three-day show, I looked up and there was Jim Shoulders with his Brahma bull Bufford T. Lite in a trailer.
I said something to him like, “You’re not taking that bull up the elevator, are you?”
Shoulders answered, “I ain’t taking him up the escalator.” He saw me talking to the bellman who took my gear and said, “You got any pull with these folks at the Fairmont?”
“What do you need?” I asked.
“I need for a lot of these people standing the around the loading dock to get gone.”
I knew what he meant. Most of the people were hotel staff sent to help, but they were afraid of Bufford T. There were also a few curious hotel patrons milling about. I asked them to please move on, and they did.
Ole Bufford followed Shoulders up the ramp to the loading dock and right into the freight elevator. I pushed the button for them to go up.
Later, I ran into him in the hall. He thanked me for the help, and we introduced ourselves.
“You been around livestock,” he said, more as a statement than a question.
“Yes,” I said. “All my life.”
He said “I could tell. I seen in your eyes you weren’t afraid of my bull.”
“If you brought that critter into the Fairmount and the hotel allowed it,” I said, “he must be well trained.”
That evening my daughter Sherri and her high school friend Mandy Kane flew in from San Antonio for the weekend. Sherri and Mandy got to meet Jim Shoulders and Bufford T. in the main ballroom of the Fairmont. They had their pictures taken sitting on ole Bufford’s back. He just stood there posing for Sherri, as the picture shows.
As Mandy got on, I noticed something had changed in the bull’s disposition. Jim also saw the change and told the photographer to take the picture. He turned to me and said, “Git her off.”
The 1000-pound Brahma bull started to move out and away from Jim in a full circle, knocking over a few chairs and tables. The front of the ballroom quickly cleared of the more intelligent and sober conventioneers.
Jim held the rope tight but did not jerk it. He whispered to the bull calmly as it made a full circle, coming back toward me and his wrangler. Fortunately no one panicked, not even Mandy, who seemed to be enjoying the ride. Jim gave Bufford just enough rope to allow him to circle back to me, and I pulled Mandy off.
Then the world’s greatest cowboy led Bufford away as if nothing had happened.
And that’s no bull.
Jim Shoulders, World’s Best Cowboy
Jim Shoulders won 16 world championship titles in bull and bareback riding. For those that don’t follow National Finals Rodeo (NFR) events and don’t recognize what that means, it would be in the league of Babe Ruth in baseball, Michael Jordan in basketball, or Tiger Woods in golf (minus the chicks). After retiring from bull riding, Jim Shoulders produced rodeos and provided livestock for rodeos. He promoted Wrangler Jeans to the point that no real cowboy would be caught dead in those other denim jeans. Same with Justin Boots.
Jim had a Brahma Bull named Bufford T. Lite. They traveled around the country promoting Miller Lite Beer. You may remember some of those zany commercials back in the 80’s. I have a good laugh every time I think of the commercial he did with New York Yankees manager Billy Martin. Enjoy the video of the ad below—it’s still available on YouTube.
I had watched Jim Shoulders compete but had never had the privilege of meeting him until July 1982. We both were working a convention at the Fairmont Hotel in Dallas. There I saw his greatest feat, which I’ll tell you about next time.
